Line of Impiey
by Kasan Soulblade
Summary: He hated this ritual.  But waiting in the dark to complete his soul’s purging, the boy who would gain the mantle of “the bloody” came to understand.  His faith was a hard cold line, drawn by his sword, and it left a red gash across his soul.
1. Introduction:  A rite

_Line of Impiety___

_Chapter One _

_The rite…___

_To my readers,_

_One incident told in a few chapters. I can't seem to get Asch out of my head at the moment. This fic details, in a roundabout way, the life Asch lived in Daath. It's little more than my Asch's past outline fleshed out and given a narrative voice. Still, I hope it's enjoyable. First part focuses on the pre-game Van Asch relationship. Originally it was going to be a little warmer than this, but somehow these changes felt more... realistic. Meh, I'm rambling, here's the story already._

_Kasan Soulblade_

He wasn't a religious man, he that knew. The fact was imbedded in him, as much a part of him as his skin, and blatantly obvious to any whom knew him. He hated the Score with a passion that didn't just border on blasphemous; he knew it for what it was. He lived a life of full fledged blasphemy.

The lore of Lorelie, the founding of Daath, the story's of Yulia… Such tales should have been a support and comfort. Instead they were the crumbling ruins housed within his soul. The disastrous rotting framework supported nothing but doubts and bred nothing but discontent. Such ruins had been made under the weight of his curiosity; the relentless logical thought process he laid claim to had ripped his faith asunder.

As such, as with many of the faithless, he felt suspended upon nothing. His life was based on the frantic hope that if he neither looked up or down he would somehow be spared a harder hand from heaven. Or if that failed, he hoped that the black abyss of death that would claim him would be as dark and as oblivion inspiring as sleep.

Yet on the flip side of the coin…. hope required faith of a sort. So despite his breaking away from the church he was a man of faith. But his faith was alien to those around him.

He smirked at the contradictions that made up his life. And he had to wonder, just who he was trying to appease?

Above and beyond his dark world a bell tolled. Ten rings now. He sighted and clenched his gloved hands into fists. Or rather, he would have liked too. His nails-blunted by a lair of thick leather- bit into his bare knees. The cold that permeated the lightless chamber had crept across the whole of his bent legs. Goosebumps had risen across the length of his limbs. Only the fact that he kept his teeth gnashed together prevented their chattering.

Then he remembered, with startling vividness, the real reason behind the ritual. And it had nothing to do with madness, though the instigator of this ritual might have been a little mad.

X

The room was large, luxurious when compared to his own humble quarters within the Oracle Knight headquarters. Windows tall as a man flanked a long wooden desk. Thick earth hued rugs made the floor soothing to the feet. He felt the effects, despite wearing his toughest riding boots. Leaning back into a tall backed chair, the white clad commandant stared upon his student. Green eyes met blue, and nothing passed between them. No information, no mutual respect, not even a greeting. As silent as the shadows whose hue he constantly wore, Asch had slipped into Van's private office without even bothering to knock on the door.

At last it was Van who broke the silent, quoting a bit of scripture for his disgruntled pupil, a cynical curl to his lips telling them both how much Van believed in what he was saying.

"_Your sins, what they may be, will come alive in the unholy dark. They will haunt you, and chill you, and the warm oblivious of slumber shall not be yours. You shant blunt the claws by seeking the solace a normal man would partake._"

"Meaning I can't sleep." Asch interpreted the real meaning behind the scripture with the lazy ease of one well read.

"And you must abstain from comfort for a whole twenty four hours." The Commandant added wryly.

Not amused, the red haired Cantor glared at his mentor. Their relationship, once a thing of ease and closeness had become strained due to the young man's "forced exile" to Daath. Arms crossed over his chest, Asch the Bloody –though not official christened such by the Fon Master yet, it was only a matter of time before the whole of the Church called him so- allowed himself a small growl. Only that quiet sound escaped Asch's lips… but it was enough. A world of meaning and frustration became known to the Commandant, and to that Van allowed himself a real smile.

"You sit in a room -a closet really- for twenty four hours, half naked, deprived of light. When you're done you put on some ceremonial robes, tell the Fon Master that the road of Lorelie is better illuminated. Just do that and you get your freedom. No more asking for leave to go where you wish, no more page long reports to explain the most minor of your actions." Leaning forward across the table Van cast his pupil a grin. "You wander Daath like a caged wolf, starving for the world. Complete the ritual and you can have what you want. Freedom, power, all will be yours. And the cost, the catch, you might ask? One night's worth of sleep and some hollow words."

Asch tasted the words; they rang true, at the moment. He'd mull them over to their full extent at a later time. Divide and calculate clause and motive to words until he could mark the half lies with the full. He'd hoard the small particles of truth that were peppered throughout, and use them later, for his own ends. In satisfaction with his own plans, Asch nodded, only that.

Van chuckled, amused, and perhaps wondered what fed the fires housed behind those emerald eyes.

"It's temping, then, the power granted after the ritual?"

"Maybe."

Still smiling, a feral bearing of teeth made absolutely savage by the mass of edges that his favored hair cut gave him, the fallen knight of Fende actually laughed. "Then you'll complete the rite?"

"Maybe."

"Ah, the sullenness of an adolescent!"

"Adult." Asch corrected. "I went through my rite of passage… my coming of age last month. You might want to read my "I'm taking leave of Daath" paperwork more carefully if you missed something as blatant as that."

It was worth it, those words, even the heavy consequences of companionship, just to see Van's mouth sag open in shock. As his amusement deepening to glee, Asch stepped back, into the shadows that shrouded the door. The darkness hid his features from those suddenly piercing eyes. Hoping to shock information out of his estranged pupil, Van recovered himself fast and leaned forward. The motion was reminiscent of a snake going to strike, Van's venom of choice was the stolen truth gathered by his spies.

"You were sighted with members of the Dark Dream, an acting troupe, in Sheridan at that time."

Asch only smiled. He'd already banned Noir from coming to Daath. Outside of the religious capital she was safe, so Asch the Bloody callously shrugged. Made a show of throwing her to the wolves, knowing well that if she ever heard of the incident she would laugh and toast him for getting the one up on Van.

"I had some fun trying to drink Urushi under the table." Asch said, his emerald hued eyes going distant with wistfulness. "And Noir's… companionship was very satisfying."

Shock, disgust, horror flashed across Van's face. On reflection Asch could have said that this little show he was being treated too was the most honest. Van's disgust wasn't feigned, it was honest, and for being that it was double amusing.

"You… that woman… she's over twice your ag-"

"Really Master." Asch chortled, bowed, and decided now was the perfect time to open the door and let himself out. "Do try to keep your mind out of the gutter."

"Lu... Asch!" Van barked, seeing that his pupil was going to leave. "You get back here! I want an expla-"

"Ask your spies." Asch snarled. Slamming the door behind him he ran. Ran from Van... to what? To Lorelie? "Unlikely." Asch growled under his breath as he slowed his dash to a mere trot. His trot turned into an unhurried walk; after all, any haste was frowned at by the Order. The Score would get you where you needed to go at the proper time if you were truly needed...

X

Secure in the knowledge none would dare break his "most sacred" solitude, Asch snarled into the darkness around him. He repeated the sentiments he had felt upon hearing that line of pure stupidity years ago. He repeated the words that he dared not utter at that time or any time preceding this time. Fear of the consequences had forever tempered him, had been an eternal censoring of his words, but never of his thoughts. Those were still his, no matter what happened, no matter what they said, he'd think as he pleased and would act upon his thoughts when he could.

Despite his now chattering teeth and numb lips Asch smirked and carried on. His next words were harsh, and sharp, and extremely profane. To the unjudging darkness around him Asch coldly suggested Lorelie and Van take on a very questionable pose while engaging in a highly unlikely –and possibly physically impossible- activity. Then, with a quiet laugh for his own juvenile lapse, the Cantor decided what the hell. He'd pass one of these long hours enjoying himself and getting a little practice in while he was at it!

Wracking his brain Asch proceeded to dredge up ever profane phrase he'd ever heard and directed it at Van. Then, just to be fair, Asch threw a few of the milder ones at Lorelie, Yulia, and Mohs.


	2. Dark Cardinal

_To my readers, _

_The title of this chapter might give away its contents… or more likely its focus. I've a full planed story centering on Asch and this chapter's focus. That's a future project however. _

_Kasan _

Line of Impiety

Chapter two

_A dark cardinal_

Had he reached up with a hand he would have encountered a wall. Had he stood the crest made of his uppermost strands of rebellious hair would have brushed the ceiling. One step back and he could have enough to put his back to the door; a step forward would have put him uncomfortably close with the mural of Lorelie. Every cardinal direction save south was dun hued wall, as for south there was a door, but it was made of such a thick length of wood that once the cross bolt had been thrown over it the word "door" became little more than an abstract description.

He'd been allowed to se the room before his voluntary interment. Muttering prayers Ion had preceded him into this prison, an old fashioned torch in one hand, a vial of "holy" water in the other. Asch had watched the ritual with faintly veiled skepticism. The Cantor's nose had wrinkled at the scent of burning wood; his thoughts had -rather inappropriately- drifted to how the water's splashes were rather reminiscent of an animal marking its territory. Tugging on his gloves, Asch had shivering a bit. He longed for something more than the thin ceremonial robes of grey that had been foisted on him, even as he knew he'd shortly be stripped of the garment shortly.

Preparations complete, the fon master ducked out of the room and looked to his most reluctant of priests.

"Lorelie's peace be with you. May He shield you from the demons that dwell in your soul."

For once, just this once since it was only himself and the fon master, Asch allowed himself to say what he thought. The consequences be damned.

"He never has."

In the face of such sacrilege Ion blanched, would have said something… Save Asch coldly stepped into the room, the glare he cast over his shoulder had the nice effect of muting the child. Shrugging off the robe the red haired Cantor callously tossed it behind him and knelt on the stone floor.

He ignored the sounds behind him, of Ion fumbling to catch the discarded garment. To the thin grey shadows around him he smirked, it was a small smirk, but like his words it too could be damning so Asch bowed his head in a mock show of piety.

Red hair fell across his face it served as a mask cast in a bloody hue…

That had happened hours ago, and only recently had Asch bothered to lift his head. With a steady hand the Cantor had pulled his hair back in place and went about the business of waiting. His small profane spat had been entertaining, if meaningless diversion. Perhaps, just perhaps, he could do something constructive with all this infernal time.

With something like hope in his heart Asch lifted his hands to the dark. His gesture was not the submissive motion of prayer to Lorelie, but rather one of grasping, one of power.

And the Seventh fonons around him, within him, they shivered in response to his will…

X

Books were scattered about the floor. Some left as miniature towers, others malformed hills. All sported a hint of blue. Some had a teasing tongue of blue ribbon poking out from the pages, others had covers cast in blue. It made the hills seem almost like a sea, but that might have been an analogy in his mind. He'd never really seen the sea much, despite living by the sea and braving its span twice via ship.

He'd been blindfolded on both trips, and what leaves he'd been permitted from the cathedral did not extend out to the beach.

So he walked across this false sea, his resources exhausted, his mind in no better shape. He walked along spans untouched by books. Malkuthite, were the names penned in black, and the darkness of his room was so complete those names were lost in shadow.

All the better, he supposed.

"I'll say." Came a familiar friendly voice from the edge of his bed. "I don't like this."

"No one asked for your opinion, York."

"No, you're right." Crossing his arms in front of his chest, standing wearily by the sole slit of a window, the scrawny thief looked annoyed. "No one asked. I'm giving it anyways, Cardinal."

Asch managed to dredge up a smile for the moniker the Dark Wings had pinned on him. Among them, when he had been a child a mere five years ago, he had been a sullen, quiet boy. Both annoyed and greatly daring by Asch's withdrawn seemingly passive nature, Darithin of the Dark Wing's had taken one look at his sullen closed expression and had broken past his barriers with that one word.

_"Cardinal! Whistle us a tune, little Cardinal. A chirpy thing, you look like the chipper type!" _

So "chipper" had Asch been he had punched the large Dark Wing leader in the gut. Asch hadn't done much damage, and Darithin had thrashed him soundly… But it had been a good fight, and once his rage had died down he'd found himself a circle of admiring friends eager to take him in. He smiled, more for the remembrance than for any hope.

"You gave Urushi the run around, he told Noir of course, and she sent me." With a lazy motion the blue and black clad thief lifted a leg and set it on the edge of the bed.

"I... figured she would."

"So." Blue eyes locked on him, the Dark Wings Second's gaze was unwavering. At last, when Asch said nothing York though, considered, and obviously came to a solution he didn't like. The man's thin lips pressed into a thinner line, he wasn't frantic, not yet, but he was obviously concerned. "You don't want to do this alone? You're that scared?"

"I'm that scared." Asch admitted with a sigh.

"Why don't you tell me what you're going to do, and if I can't do anything else I promise I'll hang around till the end."

Despite the outré expression, this visit was a confirmation of friendship years old. The confirmation was based on the fact that Urushi cared enough to risk Noir's displeasure by admitting he knew that Asch was up to something without knowing what -Urushi hated Noir's displeasure, and avoided it as a cat would avoid water- and reconfirmed when Noir took _unprofitable_ steps to check up on Asch via York. The young Cantor wondered what would happen if he dared try the same game of verbal cat and mouse with York. Asch's smile returned and warmed a great deal as he imagined Noir in all her fury descending on him. She'd be hell bent on ferreting the truth out of the elusive Cantor if Asch had intended -and somehow managed- to leave York in the dark after this visit.

She might even think it Asch's reluctance to talk was stemming from Van. She might figure that the Commandant had been threatening her "favorite Kimlascan" and decide to take steps. Knowing Noir those steps would in truth be one swift motion. It would probably start and end with a hostile encounter with Van in some secluded corner of the chapel. The confrontation would quickly escalate from a "friendly chat" to a fight that ended with a knife between Van's shoulders.

"Are you familiar with the term, hyperresonance?" Asch asked, dropping his smile he shivered a bit.

"Yeah." Cocking his head to the side, keen eyes intent, York nodded. When Asch seemed disinclined to continue York added. "Unlike Urushi I do read, and it's not all tales and fancy fairy tale junk Noir calls reading."

"When I was younger I could use it to... reach across the miles, to see through the other me's eyes. Sometime's I'd... stay the whole day, just to be home, to see that everyone was alright. When Van figured out what I was doing he put a stop to it. He put up a... a wall of seventh fonon that I can't crack through, he sealed up my replica's fonon slots."

"Wh... You... _What the hell did you think you were doing just taking over someone like that_!" York roared. For once the nervy thief who never lost to anger was furious. It was only then that Asch remembered his history. In Hod there had been a lower caste then peasant. Indentured servants were common in Hod, if somewhat rarer to the rest of Malkuth. While Kimlasca had all but wiped out the practice to prove their moral superiority to Malkuth, those who gathered under the banner of the Imperial Throne of Water still held to the idea that a man could own another man.

More important than some abstract human's rights debate between the two countries York had been one of those servants. Considered by those around him lower than an animal, York had resigned himself to the life of drudgery his father's sins had bought him. Eventually, the stoic resolve had evaporated under a barrage of common sense. Somehow, someway, before Hod's destruction, York had gotten away; he had broken free of his old life, and the restrictions placed by the old sins that weren't his own. Noir had once insinuated that York had faked his own death to do so. The once servant York Shirien had been sharp enough to know when to cut and run, when to lie and when to tell the truth, and it was by those traits and a streak of luck a mile wide that he had make a prosperous life for himself before the tidal wave had hit...

Shooting to his feet the thief's face went pale. The man's long slender hands clenched and unclenched, and despite himself Asch stepped back, his own hand going to grasp of the hilt of his sword. Oblivious to his own peril, York looked ready to try to pound Asch into the ground. _Idiot,_ hissed the coherent part of the Cantor's mind, _I'm a damned fool, I shouldn't have told him what I've been doing_. But mere coherence paled before the hellish fury and despair that was as familiar to him as his own reflection.

"He said he killed them!" Asch screamed. "He put the wall up and he told me he killed them!"

Shock flashed across the pale thief's face, surprise, fear... and it was only then that Asch realized he had drawn his sword. At the face of that threat York's anger fled. In the face of Asch's pain, York's bitterness faded.

"You're only going to check on them? That's all you've ever done?"

"That's it."

There was no asking who "them" was. Both rouge and Cantor knew the only people Asch cared for were his family.

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to..." Stupidly Asch turned to look at his own hand, at the sword that he still held.

"When you got a tangle you pick a thread and work it out." York advised. The thief's rough voice softened with sympathy, his anger was forgotten. "Step one would probably be to put that thing away."

With a sheepish look Asch tossed the blade to the side, uncaring how it knocked over a pile of books as it fell.

X

He'd failed then, that night. With York looking on Asch hadn't been able to take a blade to his wrists like he wanted to for his failure. There was terror for not knowing, that terror however paled at the despair, the ache of realizing that everything he strived was for not... Perhaps oblivious to his young friend's sate of mind York lingered a few days, making both small talk and light of the Cantor's reaction illness. The fact that Asch had poured everything into his attempt had left his fonons so low he had gotten ill, he barely remembered that time. Feverish visions... hallucinations... a familiar presence feeding him broth and water. Still Asch was confident that York had kept his promise, he'd stayed until the Cantor had recovered then had left as suddenly as he'd come.

_"I think it's time the Wings paid a Kimlasca side of the coin for a "look-see", as Urushi would put it. Maybe we'll even go to Batical."_

Thus had read York's parting note, and between those lines was a request that Asch wait a span before he did anything else. So Asch had waited, and Noir's letter that had arrived two weeks later had again, begged him to wait. So the young man who was fast attaining a name for bloody deeds waited a little longer. The ghost of some fond emotion, something that was not quite hope, had fluttered in his heart, like the echo of a soul... Asch had waited and York had kept to his word. Despite the dangerous mix of mounting and unresolved tension between Kimlasca and Malkuth the Dark Wings had crossed through the Kaitzur checkpoint and into Kimlasca territory. They'd even gotten to Batical and managed -though Asch could not imagine how- to put a performance for the royal household.

They told him such in letters, for they now didn't dare to visit. The letters that York had insisted Asch wait for before doing anything else had put the young man's self destructive demon's to sleep for a time.

Even if Noir's five page compare contrast essay about how she was so much more attractive than Natalia had royally pissed him off.

Checking a small smile at the memory of that letter Asch reached, and as on that night almost three years ago he felt a familiar resistance that was laced with Van's all too familiar presence.

With a sigh the Cantor lowered his hands.

Unlike the time before he didn't curse at fate, at Lorelie, or at God. He didn't waste his breath in screaming out sacrilegious curses. Taking a deep breath the Cantor didn't even allow his hands to clench into fists. Asch did only one thing. He finally let hope go, the sharp stabbing a shard of blind optimism that had been with him for so many years, the childish dream that he'd somehow be able to earn his homecoming… He let it go, and it cut into him, drew blood from the soul.

Asch took the torture with a half choked sob then lowered his head as he cried.

After all, there was no one to see him, no one to hear him. This once, in the unjudging dark, he was allowed the indulgence of expression. So he grieved as the last of his childhood fell about him in bloody pieces.


	3. Demons in Silence

A/N: Basically this chapter just sums of Asch's demons... as well as his priorities.

Line of Impiety 

Chapter 3 

Demons housed in Silence 

A bell rang. Its call was distorted by distance, by depth, and a maze of earthen walls. Still Asch lifted his head to count, oblivious to how his hair was plastered to his face around his eyes. Had someone come in to check on him the light would have reveled him to be a ghastly shade of white. Licking his lips, he wondered why they felt so dry and raw when he was doing everything to keep them moist. After the last peal died the hellish quiet of his solitude reasserted itself. It was quiet here, so much so that the silence seemed a heavy waterlogged cloak, smothering, cloying. And no actions of his could wrench the silence from his shoulders, his voice when he rose it soon fell flat, and thus all distractions he had tried so far had failed. He could do nothing to dislodge that which smothered him, for his agony came from within.

_"…the demons that dwell in your soul…"_

Nervously running his hand through his hair Asch considered Ion's words. He'd avoided obsessing over everything else; his past failures were a bleak grey avenue that he could have spent a lifetime trodding. But he dared not, Van would not find his pupil shattered by solitude and quiet, because if he did…

Asch had skirted to the edge many times in his young life. Normally Noir gently propelled him back to a more steady ground. If Van ever found Asch weakened though the man Asch called teacher would act in only one way. He would shove Asch over the abyss, confident that a broken, dispirited soldier would be more effective at his tasks than a rebellious questioning one.

After all, consider Largo. Largo had come out of this rite looking dispirited and weak, and Van had "helpfully" rebuilt the emotionally drained Cassadonian mercenary into a being obsessed with strength. While Largo had probably been going in that direction already what was wholly unnatural –as far as Asch was concerned- was how placid… how utterly obedient Largo had become. Strength bread power, power discouraged submission… But under the right circumstance Largo would probably, no _gladly_, slash a child's throat to further the Commandant's cause.

Largo was utterly submissive to Van's will. Any of the man's original thoughts were quickly suppressed, broken, and the shards quickly cleaned away.

In short, it was disgusting. The absolute control Van exercised over Largo… it was so powerful that he had wondered... And if it hadn't been for certain sounds he'd heard while spying on his Master knowing very well that Legretta and Van were together. Well the Cantor would have suspected Van and Largo's relationship to be more intimate. However, time had shown that his vilest thoughts were not the case.

Demons were said to dwell in the darkness and silence. And it was then, in that silence while he shivered and thirst that he unwillingly came to encounter the first of them.

Jealousy.

He had seethed every time when Van had left him to go to Batical, to train the replica. Asch mentally raged every time he remembered that while he was living in little more than a closet, his clothes for the most homespun wool robes to declare his rank of a mere Bravo while his replica ate and drank the best Kimlasca had to offer. So powerful was the anger when he imagined his replica courting Natalia he would physically shake. He'd used those images to brush off blows that would fell more powerful men and used his hate to stand even after Largo would beat him bloody and broken during a "sparing session". His jealousy and accompanying hate allowed him to make their mutual master's orders of "bloody Asch up a little" harder to achieve, because every time he crossed blades with the Lion he was crossing them with his replica.

Every time he drew blood from one of his foes he drew it from the replica. The knife he had twisted into the gut of one enemy had been sliding into his other's innards. Their screams were _Luke's_ screams, and lost in his word of hate the torment had sounded beautiful…

He'd been falling and had not realized he was falling. His love was his hate, and what gentle memories he'd held to before had faded into obscurity. For a short time he'd been whole, the wounds of loss and grief faded from him. He'd been like Largo, eagerly doing as he was told, not thinking.

X

"A murderer? Our Cardinal? I won't believe it!" Snorting Urushi crossed his arms in front of his chest. Or at least Asch imagined him to have, from his hiding place by the door. He was in Daath, of course, soon to go through the ritual that would raise him from Bravo to Cantor. The ritual was tomorrow in fact, he was to fast today and had spent the last few days mute.

It had come to his complete shock when, while heading down the steps of the main chapel at dawn, to see Urushi, Noir, and York mounting the stairs in full Dark Wing's garb. As if aware of his vow of silence and restraint they honored the ritual -though York did have to rib Noir to keep the red haired thief from running up and hugging him. As a group they waved then went inside. Asch who had to complete the beginner's pilgrimage by noon wanted to waste a few moments gapping, he ached to say something…

But he couldn't. The priests had foisted off some fonic symbol on him that made it impossible to talk and he dared not take it off. He also dared not be late for his return, so he had dashed down the stairs. Feeling oddly elated at seeing that his friends were here, Asch managed to ignore their reasons for the moment. He was confident that whatever they were all would be explained to him soon enough.

Ritual demand that after the brisk walk from monument to monument he be secluded off from the others to silently pray. He endured the seclusion, and while he didn't pray he did anoint his throat and wrists with the rose scented "holy" water set aside for him. After spending a long moment looking in the mirror and taking his wind tousled hair the fifteen year old Bravo used some of the sweet smelling stuff to slick back the more unruly locks. It wouldn't do to appear before the Maestro's of Daath looking like a sweaty child after all.

He'd gotten his freedom after putting on a set of black robes. Those around him ignored him, from the moment he left the room he abandoned his Bravo status, and it was not time for him to be acknowledged as a Cantor. A man who had no ties to the church was not real, he did not exist, and so those he knew in Daath turned away.

But those who weren't from Daath, they could acknowledge him. The ritual didn't say anything against it, and he knew from talking to those who went through it that he was allowed to meet whoever he pleased…

Now, after finding where they were he hesitated on the threshold, their dire conversation making it nearly impossible for him to gather his courage to knock on the door.

"I don't want to believe it Urushi, to think Asch is playing Van's pet killer. 'specially after what the bastard did to one of our own…" York let the last bit trail off. Dark memory made his throat thickened and stilled the thief's speech.

Silence fell, pained silence from within the small guest room and without. Asch bit his lip; he wanted to say how that wasn't true. He wasn't fighting for Van! He was just trying to go home...

"That bastard son of Fende killed Darithin." Noir growled. "Asch would never side with-"

Whatever Noir said faded from Asch's thoughts. He staggered back; face pale, eyes wide in shock. His mouth opened to form some denial, but the fonic seal held his vocal cords in place, he couldn't even manage a gasp of shock. They'd told him Darithin had died on that final day, but not how. How could his Master kill someone like Darithin? Yes the large man had been a thief, but that fact paled against all the good the man had been doing...

"But Asch doesn't know." Came Urushi's voice, the bow legged bandit's suppressed agony cut through Asch's internal pain. Like drew to like and the unspoken emotional pain brought the soon to be Cantor back to his senses. "The Boss said not to tell the kid. Didn't want Asch to hate Van that hard, was scared the kid would try to knife the bastard in the back."

"But was he scared Asch would succeed or scared that he wouldn't?" Noir grumbled. There was a thump as the female thief threw herself onto the room's cot.

"That's unkind Noir. You guys are both putin' too much ice in that boy's actions. Van's forcin' him to do his dirty work. And that only stands if Asch's done anything at all."

"Don't be a sentimental idiot Urushi. You know he's capable of murder. If Darithin saw it in him before and Van's got a free hand with Asch… Our "Cardinal" changed his name you know, was just fine and dandy with Cardinal a while back until that bastard got his hooks in him and started twisting." Having seen someone die like that, by hooks twisting organs to a crimson mass, Asch shuddered. Oblivious to the state of his hidden audience, York went on. "We gotta get him out of here Noir. I don't want him here anymore than you do."

"It kinda makes me wonder." Urushi snapped at York. "We know what Darithin did. We made no bones about it. But if yer seein' it York I'd have to think on what the hell makes you so sure he's a killer."

"Boys..." A creek from the bed told Asch that Noir had risen, presumably to break up the inevitable fight. " York's past is York's business. I know it only because I had to know, you don't want to know."

"Really? You don't think I could take it, girl? I wasn't exactly sheltered and pampered like you, Lady. I lived in the damn gutters and saw men kill others for reasons almost as stupid as the damn Sc-."

Pale, shaking, Asch realized that he had to act. Noir couldn't stop the fight; she wasn't strong enough to physically hold Urushi or York away from each other when they really got into it… And if the Dark Wing's fight got any louder someone might overhear them.

No, someone _would_ overhear them, and everything would play into his Master's hands.

He raised his hand to rap on the door, and when Noir answered she looked into his pale face and she knew he'd overheard some of it. Not all, her green eyes seemed to silently beg him, please don't tell me you heard it all.

The rueful smile he cast her, one so filled with bitter pain it nearly overflowed into tears, told her all she needed to know.

She offered her hand to him, ever the lady, and he took it in his own playing the part of the gentleman. And together they crossed the threshold to greet the pair of chagrined thieves.

"Heyla Asch." Urushi dredged up a fake smile. "Long time no see."

Urushi flinched at the sad smile Asch used as a reply. The older thief flinched back from the gesture as if it had been a drawn blade or a spoken threat. York only nodded, seeing he accepted, even if that acceptance made his conscience and stomach turn into writhing knots of tension.

"You have some explaining to do, young man." York crossed his arms over his chest. "Quite a bit. And I've the quill and parchment so you can get to that explaining."

Nodding, Asch rubbed the talisman and its accompanying fonic glyph. Understanding York dredged up a small sympathetic smile.

"Sorry kid, I can't take it off and put it back on without the sparrows noticing. I know you'd rather just talk but you're going to have to make do."

X

Nothing new with that, Asch would have said if he could. He had been "making do" for years before York had told him to do so, and he had been doing so ever since. It was almost six years now since his world had shattered around his ears.

And he'd fighting every moment since he'd been exiled from the manor. Demons from within, devils in the guise of men without, his blade had become part of the truth that held him afloat. Noir's good will and attempts to save him had come too late to stop him from embracing a love of war. But she'd helped him from going half mad with jealousy; she'd forced him to see what it was doing to him. What it was making him do.

But seeing and containing were different from exorcising.

And he was too far gone to come back, to be the old person he had been before. He wasn't Luke, as he told Noir that day, but the charred remains left by the sacred flame.

And Ashes were the homes of demons, desolation their love, death their passion.

Asch could do nothing to deny them. Denial was death, ignorance the executioner's blade. He wasn't ready to die, not yet, maybe not ever. He clung to life for it was in truth all he had. His life, the lives of those he loved, it was all he had.

And it was the one thing he'd willingly die for to preserve.


	4. A Score of Lies

Line of Impiety 

Chapter 4

A Score of Lies

Incredulous Asch was torn between a show of rage an shock. Both were forms of weakness, but the indecision he wallowed in was a hundred times worse than either. He was rooted into the floor, his mouth sagged open as he stared blankly at his 'Master'. Taking his silence as quiet rebelliousness -far too mild a state to describe what was really going on in Asch's mind, but the master always seemed to underestimate his pupil's rage- Van continued his lecture.

"It's custom. You'll have to do so anyways, so why not begin now?"

_If you think there is any way in hell I'm going to personally take in one of your spies you're out of your mind!_

Choking down those words was hard. He actually almost gagged on them and their accompanying bitterness. With a visible grimace Asch got control of himself and managed a cool shake of his head. Pretending to be oblivious to the unspoken denial Van went on. But the Commandant's eyes -like his tone- acquired an edge of steel.

"You are a Cantor. Eventually you must take in a disciple. It must occur when you attain a greater rank within the order. But most of your current age and rank have already taken in a few underlings, the fact you remain different-"

"I... I won't have a servant, a _slave_, serve under me." Asch snarled, cutting through the air in front of him with a sharp motion of his hand. "Much less some stupid boy who's been brainwashed by the church..."

Annoyed, Van frowned, his lips pressed into a thin line. The brown bushy eyebrows all but met and melded at the bridge of his nose as he scrunched his normally bland expression into a scowl. Form a world away the "stupid boy" Asch had denounced cringed into the shadows of Van's office. Asch noticed the motion out of the corner of his eye, still he refused to turn, to comfort, or acknowledge the young child Van was trying to push on him. To show any attachment or interest would either pave the way for Van to force the child into Asch's service or lead to the child's death.

Considering the cold calculating mentality of Asch's _mentor_ both would probably occur if Asch took the child in.

After all it was best to leave no witnesses. Bodies could be disposed of, buried, accidents could happen and be explained away... but secrets once let out were impossible to keep.

Better for them all then that Asch seem a cold heartless bastard and refuse to take the child in then. As Van continued to harp about the responsibilities of his rank and how a squire could be useful Asch set his gaze carefully at the point above Van's head. He watched the bushy tuft of hair that topped Van's head rise and fall with each nod or headshake... Van had his back to two massive windows. They depicted scenes out of the church's history, one was cast in dark hues to depict some scene at night, and the other was cast in light blues to show the beauty of day. Both were gaudy atrocities that begged to have a rock applied to them. Asch had secretly wondered if his master's desk was turned in such a way on purpose. With his back to the sacred images Van wouldn't have to look upon them. As the lecture went on -and Asch's attention wandered- the stain glass murals lost their fine edges. They became blurs of gaudy color streaked with lead lines that swam in his vision. He blinked in pain from the direct sunlight that stabbed into his eyes, and when he did so multicolored blurs flashed into being behind the darkness of his eyes.

Realizing that his pupil's attention had been wandering, and was going to do so again if he didn't take some proactive steps, Van lifted his hand and smashed his fist into the wooden desk before him. Both child and Cantor hopped in fright. Seeing that he had Asch's undivided attention Van allowed himself a small growl of displeasure.

"As I was saying, appearances must be maintained. You will take in a servant, and it will be sanctioned by the church. I'll hear no arguments about it. If I must I shall remind you exactly what I can and will do if you defy me in this."

Ignoring the threat Asch allowed his lips to curl into a sneer. "Like how you, "took in" Legretta? Was that sanctioned by the church my lord? Does the Fon Master perhaps sanction what you do at night with her? Or does the hypocritical Holy Mother turn a blind eye to your pleasures like-"

Van shot from his chair. The savage snarl that distorted his normally placid expression was a perfect match for his equally savage attire. The silver quills that jutted from the Commandant's robes were reminiscent of a wolf's scruff roused in aggression. The Commandant's powerful hands clenched into fists, his shoulders were stiffened with outrage, and his teeth were bared like fangs.

Still despite his half mad show of rage the Commandant's tone was smooth, cool….

"I advise you, Cantor Sahguin, to watch your tongue."

"Don't _ever _think you have the right to tell me what to do Commandant Fende." Asch countered hotly, meeting Van's ice with fire. His own hands clenched into fists so tight they hurt.

A gasp from the boy, all but forgotten in the heat of their fight, suddenly drained Asch's rage. A chill filled him, his face probably went pale as he realized… As if aware that he'd drawn such deadly attention to himself the boy raised a hand to his mouth as if to catch the gasp, but the damning sound had already been made. Recognition was in that noise, the boy knew the name Fende, and in knowing that he knew too much. Asch's hands unclenched, they ached, abysmally, but that pain was nothing to the agony that flared in his breast.

Ever the coward Asch bowed his head and closed his eyes. Van's booted feet clicked against the smooth wooden floors; there was a familiar hiss of a sword sliding out of its sheath.

"Please… my Lord. I'm sorry… really I am! I won't tell a soul! I swe-"

The boy managed a gurgled cry, and then there was a dull thump of the body striking the floor.

"You are upset, uncomfortable, with both your new rank and with the duties that are required of you to maintain this rank." Van's voice purred in the darkness of Asch's scrunched up eyes. "You will become more at ease with it as time goes on I assure you."

Red fell, dribbled down the edge of a ceremonial blade, onto the ever widening pool at a child's feet. Though he didn't open his eyes Asch could see it. He'd seen enough people die by now, the scene was hauntingly the same.

"Our cause is greater than one life, no matter if it's an innocent, no matter if it's a child. Remember that always, hold to our goals… and the Score, Lorelie, both will fall before you. I promise. Your suffering will end, the force that lead to your dethronement, he will fall, I swear it."

He's already fallen, though those around him hadn't seen it yet. Swallowing back a bitter substance that could only be bile, Asch opened his eyes. Van had thoughtfully cleaned the edge of his blade on a clean span of the child's tabard.

"Possession… Heresy…" Van mused to himself, staring at the still form in its widening crimson pool. "Those charges will excuse me. You should leave though; I can explain my actions to the council and Fon Master if I am alone…"

But not if there was another, that would lead to _complications_.

As Asch made to leave Van's voice followed him out.

"It was wrong for me to decide this for you. Pick a child on your own then, have him serve you. It will make things easier on the long run Asch. I promise you that."

Biting back a stinging rebuttle, choking on a tearful protest, Asch forced his face to relax into it's customary blank mask. A poker face, those who'd seen it would have called it... Save that gambling was forbidden within the order of Lorelie.

All was, after all, predetermined. The Score saw to that. There was no chance, no change, humanity wound it's way on the sole path to a greater glory. And it descended into the depths of it's own hell, all without a word of protest, all because an abstract promise of prosperity.

Sparing a glance at the child whose name he didn't even know, whose blood he had to step around, Asch wondered: Was this predetermined too? This death, this long path of unbroken betrayal?

Those empty eyes, wide with horror, they followed him out. And from that gaping mouth that now screamed eternally without sound Asch found his answer.

The Score offers guarantees, but there are no guarantees in life. All promises were lies, all oaths at best hopeful illusion.

Therefore like his Master's parting promise, the Score, was little more than a hollow lie.


	5. Of Notes and Enemies

A/N: I _made something of a mistake last time I updated. I meant to merge it with this one, but instead of saving my story notes I accidentally put them up when they were still obviously incomplete. It seems wrong to take the chapter down and put it up again for you all to re-read so I tweaked the text a bit to make my mistake into the story without a massive chapter overhaul. Sorry about any confusion the last chapter has left, hopefully this one will clear it up. Written to GaaratheAlchemist's "Asch's Last Blessing". _

Line of Impiety 

Chapter 5

Of Notes and Enemies

Chafing his hands Asch shivered as the last remnants of vivid memory faded. Mere reminiscing was impossible in this cold cell, the frigid cold made the mind's wanderings more potent.

And more deadly, for with memories came the weakness of distraction.

He'd long lost track of the hour. Wandering from memory to memory, grasping at the proverbial warmth to counter the hellish physical cold he had sought to forget his present discomfort. And for all his efforts it seemed that all he had done was exchange physical pain for emotional.

Grimly he plucked at the strands of red that were stuck to his face. Though hampered by the dark he slicked them back, hopefully they melded into the whole rather than stuck out at some odd angle. Oh well, he'd sacrifice image to save image, no loss or gain in it just, habit.

X

A monk's habit lay before him, the dull grey fabric folded upon itself until it resembled a perfect –if somewhat flat- square. His… uniform then, the garments a supplicant of Lorelie must wear during this ritual. Humming a tuneless ditty the newly chosen squire -an orphan boy plucked from the streets of Daath- made his discordant way around the room. Wielding a feather duster against the non-existent dust bunnies the boy was fighting a self defeating battle. After all, if you fought against everything and came up against no one, you merely wasted time and energy. Still, the boy was young, he could afford the waste.

If time and effort and energy were wasted in a harmless forum Asch wasn't going to complain. Seron had been the one to insist he was to repay Asch for the kindness of taking him in. The child was in essence as ignorant to the world as dirt… and like dirt the boy had already felt the boots of other grind into him, cast him aside. So the child cleaned Asch's immaculate apartments, and would later take lessons with the other squires of Daath.

Asch, watching the child out of the corner of his eyes, silently exulted. Here was a perfect, bloodless, victory. After years of wondering if he was ever going to get the one up over his mentor the Cantor now knew he had; for he had found a convenient counter to his Master's scheming: a child's innocence, trust, and loyalty.

Van had already tried bribery. Seron had dutifully reported that incident less than an hour after it had happened. Actually, what had happened was the boy had burst into Asch's room, and had… well "tattled" was the closest the misplaced noble could think to call it. Indirect threats were rather hollow considering how Seron had no family to threaten and had yet to make any friends. Realizing that he was facing a losing battle the Commandant would eventually try to directly threaten Asch's squire. Before the ritual Asch would have to talk to his "Master" about that, safeguard the boy the only way he knew how.

Asch had been there when the child Chesten Uth Kels had been murdered, and all it would take was one fonist casting an interrogation spell and Van's plans to fall apart. The youngster Kels had had powerful parents. They had the means and the right to insist upon such a questioning, and if Asch volunteered under sacred oath… Walls of red tape would fall apart in the name of the great lie, the Score. Asch's voluntary testimony could be put under as an act of Lorelie and that excuse would cut through the stalling that was currently stopping the Kels from getting that spell cast on Van.

Asch would make a point to remind his "master" of that before the ritual began.

Pleased with himself, with his first success in his silent war against the man he'd once dubbed as a friend, Asch Sahguan smiled.

X

Steps, coming close. After the endless seeming silence the sound of steel toed boots upon stone was impossibly loud. Checking an instinctive jerk of surprise Asch slowly got to his feet. His knees ached, but he'd been on them for almost a whole day and night. And the night, the frigid night had clad his skin within ice and left his limbs to burn. He shook, and only stubbornness held his teeth together so that they could not chatter.

X

A note for him had been left in the collection box. Tale told, delivery complete, the purple clad priest of the Eternal Scales order crept back from him with a meek vow. Little wonder she did, Asch mused even as he thanked here with the words protocol permitted. The Scales were a pacifist branch, and Asch was sworn to the Lorien Crimsons, the militant branch that had taken over for the Eternal Blades sect had fallen.

As he rolled the funny smelling page over in his hands Asch wondered what others would think of priests getting their mail via a collection box. It must seem an odd thing to outsiders, but to those who had family outside the walls of Daath it was expected. Logically speaking a collection box could and often did double up as an unofficial mail box. It wasn't a subtle or a sneaky way for information to be spread, but what made it in the box wasn't distributed. After all, everything that was left in the box _had_ to be opened and sorted; it might hold some financial worth. All gald must be counted, all missives distributed and read... even if the reader wasn't the letter's intended recipient. Amongst the cloistered isolated order of Daath any new news was welcome, personal secrets were spread via gossip, and the "juicier" the news the better.

So a personal note from some anonymous outsider to the mysterious, silent, Asch the Bloody, was of course opened, read, dissected, then somewhat belatedly delivered.

_After_ being ate over.

Heaving a sigh, Asch gingerly held the letter between two fingers. At his shake flakes of dried mustard and bread crumbs tumbled to the floor. Satisfied that his note was as clean as it was going to get Asch kicked aside the debris left by the last reader…

X

Light, in this complete darkness he felt it more than saw it. It leaked under the thin lines of the door, brushing against his ankle and shoulders with a golden light. He wanted to lean against the wall, his legs ached to buckle…

X

A bench would serve. Some ancient architect had been aware of the fact that those stationed to Daath were more likely to be elderly than young, and had installed a multitude of benches for every hall. Picking one that was unoccupied –the vastness of Daath's grand cathedral all but guaranteed that there were more empty than full benches about- he set himself onto it. Since he was alone he set himself at his ease, bending one knee, setting his chin upon that knee.

The not unfolded, bending to the will of gravity. Curious he allowed his eyes to lazily scan the note without absorbing a letter. Certainly it couldn't be a dispatch from Van. The Commandant could just summon his underling into his office if a direct order was needed. Mohs wouldn't degrade himself to sending an order without the maximum amount of fanfare; it would break his "sacred" birth score that he must do all things grandly and with confidence...

X

The door opened, though pale and aching to shake hard earned discipline allowed him to keep his feet and composure. He bowed then, to the three who greeted him, bowed low and with false humility.

Pleased –if somewhat confused by Asch's apparent about face- the young fon master managed a warm, comforting, smile. Setting a small slender hand upon his newest general's head, Ion allowed his fingers to twine between crimson locks as he uttered the first words of the ceremony.

"I have spoken, to Lorelie, as well as the mortal heads of the Order. I have spoken of purity, of humility, subjects which your mind has been focused upon since your interment."

It was a statement, not a question. Asch was to have thought of nothing else, and the writ of Lorelie was that any who ascend to a God General must think of purity and humility. So they didn't question, and Asch didn't explain. He smiled though, unable to refrain from a bit of a grin at the irony of Ion's assumption. Slightly unnerved at the predatory edge to that grin, Ion hesitated on the words of ceremony for a moment. Then after gathering his bravery, the fon master continued.

"Lorelie, as well as His servants of the Score housed in Sacred Daath, have found you pure of spirit, pure in mind, wise, persistent, and dedicated wholly to the Score. Now, it comes to one question; will you accept your sacred duty to Lorelie, to His order, unflinching, though it may lead you to death?"

Over Ion's shoulder he could see Van's eyes widen, could see Moh's mouth open in shock. And Asch understood and nearly laughed. The ex-Cantor had spent weeks before his interment studying the accepted responses to the queries Ion should have asked him. Van had drilled him mercilessly, for to answer wrong was to be put to death. A small fear considering Ion's overall gentle manner, banishment was the most likely fate for doing something horrendous since the boy didn't have the stomach for murder.

For it was custom for the fon master to hold the blade. Though many previous Master's had been weak with age they had clasped the killing blade with shaking hands to deliver the final stroke all in the name of the Score.

Asch's smile widened, warmed, and Ion saw that and returned it with a mischievous grin. So the boy was well aware he was breaking all the rules then? Good for him.

"All paths lead to death, Fon Master. Score dictated or otherwise."

Mohs sucked in a huge breath, seemed to swell in fury at the sacrilege of this upstart priest… Then Mohs lost all his breath in an explosive gasp of shock at Ion's response.

Cocking his head to the side Ion considered Asch, considered his words, and chuckled.

"I suppose so. If you really want to take a long view of things everything ends in death, paths, walking them, and abandoning them. It's the end of everything, after all. That's a rather sour way to look at everything though."

"So it is." Asch agreed.

Seeing Asch's state, and moved to compassion by it, Ion offered the ceremonial robe of smoky grey. That went too far to the conservative minded Mohs, the priest choked and moved to rip the robe out of the Fon Master's hands. Cold hands clasped around his wrist, stopped his hand a mere fraction of an inch from the grey fabric Ion had so thoughtfully offered.

With surprising cool headedness Ion watched with feigned dispassion as Asch tightened his grip on the Grand Maestro's wrist.

"Do not hurt the Fon Master, Mohs, or I'll see you cast from the church." Asch released the older priest; the man withdrew his hand with a choked exclamation of pain. Seeing the hot retort on the man's piggish eyes Asch turned so that he was facing the Grand Maestro and the Grand Maestro alone. Seeing the man hadn't taken the broad hint Asch coldly clarified his meaning. "Its custom, you see, to cast a corpse into its pyre."

"Y- you ungrateful upstart!" Mohs snarled. "You came from the gutter, following Van like a puppy and I swear I'll see you sent back to it!"

"Grand Maestro Mohs, we formally ask your blessing on this occasion so that you may be given leave to depart." Ion murmured into the tense quiet that followed Asch's threat.

"Blessing? I'll see him in hell first!"

And with that Mohs stormed from the small hall, the robes of his order rustling about his ankles as he left.

"So much for a blessing." Van murmured to himself, then the master lifted his head and frowned at his pupil. "You've made a dangerous enemy of him, Asch."

"I have many enemies." Asch shrugged, then meeting his abductor's gaze head on he continued. "Nobles, commoners, those who oppose the Score, those who don't agree with the current Fon Master's liberal interpretation of it… He'll have to stand in a long line if he wants to get a chance to kill me."

Silently Ion offered the robe that should have first been anointed in holy water before he put it on. Forsaking custom in the face of common sense Asch swept the garment over his frame, aching finger fumbling with the thick belt to tie it all in place. It wouldn't do, after all, to walk into Daath's main cathedral half naked after all.

Despite how the sight might make certain lady priests drool. Well, that what would happen if you asked Noir about that scenario, not knowing a thing about women and not thinking himself drool worthy he didn't have a clue if his rather half clad appearance would turn heads or not.

X

The letter was short, he read it twice, not quiet believing, and when at last he did believe what he saw he smiled, and let it tumble through his fingers to fall to the floor.

_Asch, _

_I don't 'spect there will be a lotta excitement in Daath this time of year. But we figured we'd swing on in and see how you were doin'. N. Says congrads, by the way. _

_Urushi_


	6. Standing Alone

Line of Impiety 

Chapter 6 

Standing alone 

He stood, staring into sunlight, into the glass before him that caught the sun's warmth and cast it out into a chaotic morass of color. Behind him, most were clad in the colors of smoke and ash, somber gray and black robbed figures filled the pews to overflowing. The massive congregation that had gathered made it so that the three guests, invited and protected by Asch the Bloody himself, were forced to stand against the walls. They stood out like sore thumbs, three splashes of color against a morbid hued backdrop.

A frog amongst a flock of crows, Urushi was a short squat man with malformed knees that trapped him in an eternal stoop. He leaned against the wall as much as he could, squinting his small eyes to better take in the events going on around him. Thoroughly baffled he pulled off his tall hat and scratched at his balding head. He cast a curious query at his fellow thief who was clad in blue like a proper gentleman of Malkuth.

Unlike said proper Malkuthite, the tall man wore a gaudy hat with a fon tech stuffed squirrel that shivered and quaked every time he moved. Small paws twitched and tugged on wire whiskers, little cloth ears twitched and shivered at the barest shake of a head. Acting oblivious to the faux animal's antics York watched and waited. The serious thief's long, pale, face was grim. Ignoring Urushi's unspoken question the scholar turned thief tugged on his long nose... The toy squirrel bound to the hat obediently tugged on its long snout; soundlessly mirroring it's master's every neurotic move.

"Everything's fine U'sh, don't worry about it."

Trusting the owner of that familiar husky voice, Urushi donned his hat, absently reaching up to flick at the hat's attendant card to see that it was put in place.

Asch knelt, half blinded by the light, and the halo of multi-colored madness that had settled over the Fon Master's shoulders fell upon his own. It picked up the crimson highlights of his black tabard, caressed the edges of the red thread that made abstract heart like designs across the length and width of the priestly garb. Fon Master and God General were lost in the shadowless light cast provided by the chapel's artistic centerpiece. It was a glass depiction of Yulia standing within the sacred flames of Lorelie, and in that light so intense that to those standing in it was dark, all hues were compiled, complex, and beyond mortal words.

Raising a hand, the fon master called for silence. And it seemed to Noir, the cardinal amongst this army of crows, that all breathing stopped at the boy-priest's command. When the Fon Master next spoke, it was with a breathless edge, as if his voice were being drained away by a force greater than himself. A golden luminescence licked around the boy as he emptied himself and severed his free will to carry out the edicts of the Score.

_"From heart's blood to heart's blood, you must swear upon both love and life. Such power of your oath it must seems as nothing to you to bleed and die for the furtherance of the Order. Such is your task, from this day forth, to serve a power greater than yourself. To elevate the Order of Lorelie must be a task you set yourself to. No coercion must bind you, not now, not ever again. Does any coercion bind you, to this order or to any other?" _

"No, my Lord."

A small hand cut between the space between the aspiring God General and the established Fon Master. In a swift business like stroke it hit flesh and drew blood. Lifting his hand, the Fon Master presented it to the sky so they all could see the bead of red that stood against the colorless stone. Fresh blood trickled down colorless stone that was the heart of the ring called Eternal.

_"You lie, unwitting, a child, you have forgotten the most basic of tenets and are forgiven. For that is the heart of the order, forgiveness. You are bound, nameless child of a forgotten country; you are bound by birth to the Score. Never forget." _

Urushi tensed at the sight of Asch's blood. Grimly Noir set her red gloved hand on his shoulder.

"Simmer down," she hissed into his ear, "it's ritual, Asch _has_ to bleed."

"Goddamn awful way to run things." Urushi snarled into his scraggly red beard. "Forgiveness my ass!"

Saying nothing York tugged at an ear, the rodent doll attached to his hat absently followed suit. Around them the priests in earshot all looked mortally offended, furious even. But their precious Score demanded they be obedience, and throwing out three people sanctioned by an up and coming god general flew in the face of their standing orders to be calm, serene, and trusting in the Score.

So the Dark Wings were safe, for the moment.

"Both of you, shut up." York hissed, the small fon tech rodent bristled it's fur and stared down at York's companions with large unblinking button eyes. "Asch is responding."

"I shall never forget." Asch's hash voice carried though the sacred silence, like stones cast off the side of a mountain. The young man's voice was shockingly loud and the threat was obvious and ominous for being obvious.

_"You have forsaken everything in the name of service thus far. I shall be generous; you may speak a name, nameless child, and take it as your own. You shall be given one ideal outside the order, I grant you both right to name and right to an ideal." _

Asch stood then, though ceremony dictated he should stay kneeling. He didn't turn to face the crowd, his expression –whatever it might be- was reserved only for Lorelie and its servant, the Fon Master. Gasps of shock resounded through the chamber, normally gasps were a quiet sound but the choked exclamations of surprise were louder in the Fon Master's silence than fon tech cannons of a dreadnought.

"I am Asch Cardinos Sahguan! Asch the bloody! I denounce all my ties to my "enlightened blood", taking in their place what you all despise, the bonds of loyalty!"

Asch roared his raw volume cutting into the gasps of horror at his sacrilege and his vehemence broke through the masses ruffled tranquility. He turned then, challenge in his eyes as he proclaimed his title and status with obvious pride. Noir lifted a hand to keep her smile hidden, at her side her compatriots were acting no better then the flustered priests in the chamber. York and Urushi gapped in shock; unable to even manage noises of surprise as they mentally floundered around trying to understand.

Understanding, as only she could, Noir drew out her fan and fluttered it at Asch in salute.

Cold ice blue eyes flashed across the chamber, settled on her, and Noir feeling her hackles rise in response turned to the venomous glare. She smile then, meeting that gaze head on she twirled her fan in a wave. Van's lip curled in a mute snarl. Clearly he didn't understand, clearly he hadn't expected this…. And therefore for begin caught off his guard the gesture that should have been a threat was pure comedy. Blowing the Commandant a mocking kiss, Noir winked at him, and smirked when he recoiled back from the daggers in her gaze.

York squeaked then, seeing who Noir was toying with. The rodent on his hand was dancing in a mad attempt to wrench itself free from the confines of the hat even as York began to shake. Urushi, too short to see what was going on looked from Noir then to York.

"We're screwed, aren't we?" Urushi whispered, to no one in particular.

York's quiet whimper and Noir's toothy grin seemed confirmation enough.

Oblivious to the drama going on below Ion -or perhaps it was more accurate to say _Lorelie_- nodded in acceptance of Asch's choice. The gasps died around them, the priesthood could not deny the gesture, all could see… And if Lorelie accepted then so must they, so it was written in the Score.

At a later time they would grow to understand the contradiction of Asch's oath, and perhaps of their Order. Acceptance of an oath of loyalty was sacrilege due to the doctrine of Daath. It was canon that to be of the Order loyalty must be forsaken. For true neutrality to exist their must be no ties. Yet by embracing loyalty, and perhaps in a backhand way love, Asch had just defied them all.

And Lorelie had just sanctioned it!

Checking the urge to crow in delight, Noir forgot Van and wallowed in Asch's victory for him. He'd finally won after all! After years of wondering, doubting, he'd clawed his way to the top (well almost the top) of Daath's theocracy, and now they couldn't touch him. With mere words Asch had just bested the priesthood, and Van, and maybe even Lorelie him-(it?)-self! Noir curled her hands into fists so that her nails bit into her palms, all to keep from squealing in delight and running up and hugging him.

Just a mite worried that his leader was about ready to break out into a random jig of pure joy Urushi reached out and put a steadying hand on Noir's shoulder.

"Easy Noir, take a deep breathe…"

From atop the altar Asch knelt, driven down to his knees by the imperious gesture that Ion would have never used. Wondering, and perhaps worrying, the God General stayed still as Ion reached into a golden chalice and withdrew his hand now sporting red edged fingers. Asch stiffened, almost grimaced as the Fon Master jerkily set his hand first upon the fight shoulder, then upon the left. Finally, Ion… no the force controlling the Fon Master… chucked the God General under his chin, as a mother would a young child.

Expecting to be looking into green eyes Asch recoiled when he saw twin pools of shimmering gold…

Or rather he would have, save that his limb had become like stone and it was all he could do to keep his head up.

_"Do you accept this duty? To die in the name of Lorelie, and thus fulfill the meaning of the Score with your last breath?" _

The Fon Master I- no _Lorelie_- whispered, his wine touched fingers leaving thin trains of red that tickled and cooled Asch's throat as they trickled down.

"I accept this duty."

The Fon Master's hand rose and stuck a final time. Wincing at the pain Asch looked into those clear golden pools, ignoring for a moment the stinging pain. They flickered, the gold, faded into a green softer than Asch's cat green eyes. The boy swayed, and his knees buckled… he was going to fall!

Reaching out Asch caught the Fon Master before he could collapse. The boy shivered, moaned as if in agony, and curled against Asch as if horridly cold.

"Get a Seventh fonist, a healer!" A voice called from the crowd, below the flock of crows milled about in confusion.

"Arietta, get up there!"

The last was Van, it had to be. No one else would think to call that name.

Reaching up, the Fon Master grabbed Asch's cassic, small ceremonial pins held the garment in place so it didn't fall from his shoulders at Ion's small tug.

_"Asch…" _

The voice was an eerie melding of Ion and that breathy voice, both sounded worn out.

_"Asch… 'cred… flame…" _

Asch jerked at the title. It was a title he'd never called himself, a mantle that he had despised since childhood.

A mantle that Ion should not have known of, for Asch, out of all the priests in Daath, refused to get his score read so no others would hear of it.

_"Sacred Flame… light… of… soul… Such duty… will be one of death, of loss…"_

"All duty is." Asch snapped curtly. He shifted his grip on the Fon Master, not liking the hollow rattle to the boy's breath. "Don't talk Fon Master; you'll only wear yourself out."

Footsteps were coming, closer now. Not bearing light this time, Asch noted grimly, the priests cut black shadows across the chromatic morass that God General and Fon Master stood in.

_"For... give... m... me…" _

"Take him." Pale and shaking, Asch offered the Fon Master to his body guard. Some chit raised by beasts if he had his stories straight. She obeyed at the least, ordering one woman decked out in the garments of the Scales to take up Asch's burden and leave.

Relieved Asch wanted nothing more than to sink to his knees in sudden exhaustion, to let them gather him up as they had taken the Fon Master. Silence would be welcome, solitude would be a blessing.

But it was unsuitable for a God General to be weak, and therefore he must not be weak, not now, not ever again. Grabbing at the hilt of his sword, as if it were a lifeline he stood, stood against the tide of crows in their robes of soot and ash.

And only a flash of color caught from the corner of his eye assured him that he no longer stood alone.


	7. Conclusion: Resolve

_To my readers,_

_This is the last chapter of "Line". This story answers some of the questions posed in it's summery, but not all of them, and none of them are adressed too directly. It's a case of reading between the lines I suppose. On fore thought this is more of a Asch/Noir/DarkWings fic. However there isn't a Noir slot in the charater selection place, and since it's deliberatly misleading I'll probably swap out the Van slot for an empty one. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. I've some more Asch fics up my sleeve and I'll put them up when I can. Hopefully Line was enjoyable as well as marginably informative._

_Kasan Soulblade_

Line of Impiety 

Chapter 7

Of Resolve

He lounged, legs kicked up, arms sprawled lazily in whatever way they liked. He lay in the embrace of a shapeless battered couch of dark brown leather, it was one of his favorites...

The volumes robes of state, the tabard of divine station, and his cassic that did little than intimidate the masses and indicate his chosen order, were scattered around the room without care. He was clad in a long tunic of dun brown, baggy grey pants clung to his waist, and were held to him by the tightly bound length of leather that served as his belt. Setting his head upon the arm of his chosen couch, he ignored how his long crimson hair fell behind him. He ignored how the tips must certainly be dipping into the cups set upon the floor, and as his skin crawled and he realized his "ignorance" wasn't holding he promised himself that when he sobered up a shower was definatly in order. Two glasses of Rocket Tower wine -a brew supposedly made by combining the chemicals of the first Rocket Tower's fuel and passing it off as liquor- lay on the wooden floor. On was empty save an off orange skin at its bottom, the other was full. Untouched.

Around him, taking places on other disreputable but comfortable pieces of furniture were the Dark Wings. The legs of Urushi's chosen chair were lost in a forest of glasses of every shape and size. The portly thief slept off his indulgence, the raw volume of each snore made the cups around him rattle ominously. On the other side of the room was York. The thief was curled into a tight ball, his pirate hat covering his face. Like the hat's accompanying rodent, the thief's arms were twined around his lanky form, unlike the rodent however there was no bushy tail draped over a shoulder. York mumbled contentedly in his sleep, oblivious to Asch's scrutiny, the squirrel atop the hat soundlessly chittered. A handful of glasses were set around the uncomfortable looking wooden bench that York had claimed for himself, one had tipped over. The spill was hardly formidable just a small orange sport on light brown wood that could easily be felled by the application of a mop.

Asch stared blankly at the orange spot for a while, then with a yawn he stretched and turned so he was facing the back of the much clawed upon couch.

X

_The hustle and press was behind him. He'd bolted at the first opportunity, abandoning his Master to make all the explanations the mass had wanted. Taking deep breathes in a quiet hall way, the murmurs of shock and worry from the grand chapel was little more than abstract rumbles... Like the peal of thunder heralding a storm..._

_They'd come for him there, wide smiles crossing their weary faces. And he offered warmth for warmth, shyly giving them a startled smile of his own._

_"You did good work kid._" _Urushi's hand settled on his shoulder, the man's touch wrinkled the black fabric of his cassic a little. "Did us damn proud up there."_

_"Did you see Van's face?" York chortled. "Like he'd taken in some of Urushi's cooking! It was rich, Asch, just rich!" _

_"It was more a case of your cooking, York! Or perhaps I should call you your real name, Professor Dorki-"_

_Settling her slender hands upon the mock combatant's shoulders Noir stepped between the two thieves and flashed Asch her warmest smile._

_"Turn around Asch, let me look you over."_

_He obliged her, all the while mystified by her request. The robes of his station twined awkwardly with his abrupt turn. Still he didn't trip, nor accidentally throttle himself with the black length of fabric that they'd so recently slung over his neck. The tasseled ends of the cassic tickled at his knees, the robes twisted, and the tabard was hot and heavy. Noir smiled, looked over him as he turned and she laughed. Then she was there, crossed the distance between them and embraced him, every inch the proud, older, sister._

_"How you've grown, my dear, how you've grown!"_

_His smile widened a bit as her hand playfully twined his long locks of crimson hair._

_"Noir, put the shears down, now."_

_She recoiled out of the embrace at his accusation. The scissors that she'd kept hidden up the flowing sleeve of her one sleeved dress caught the sun just right. The edge of the gapping tool twinkled with silent, golden, wicked laughter. Without a whit of shame she huffed at him, stuck her tongue out and with a flourish thrust the scissors back on her belt._

_"You're no fun!"_

_"I wouldn't mind a trim," Asch admitted wryly, "just not by the woman who claims that she can't draw a straight line _with_ the aid of a ruler."_

X

Noir's voice purred lazily in the darkness of the chair's back and his half closed eyes.

"You alright Asch?"

"Fine." He murmured sleepily.

"Worth it?"

"Anything's worth something to someone." He informed the back of his couch, curling so that he could take the best that the cushions had to offer.

"Spoken like a true Dark Wing. By the way, I know you're not drunk, so stop playing like you are."

He turned then, away from the musty dark of the couch and faced Noir. Like always she was dressed in a challenging scarlet dress that showed much but reveled little of what really mattered. Her long hair was thick and a glossy artificial red; her eyes were a shocking blue in contrast. She'd taken the tall backed chair, it looked like a throne, but her posture -half slouched, one half bare leg kicked up over one arm- dispelled that disturbing image from the new God General's mind.

"We are proud of you, you know that, right? Even if we don't approve, we're proud."

That wasn't new, the knowledge that they didn't approve of what he was doing, and in part, what he was. They hated the killings and he hated the killing too. Or at least he told himself that everyday. His denial of pleasure in battle was the hollow mutterings of the impious' prayer, though. He knew that, and she knew that, but still he said the words everyday and every time they asked.

It had been their happy little facade, their comfortable pet lie, and it was very unlike Noir to coolly rip it down and make them both look on the uncomfortable truth. He shrugged, feigning nonchalance, and Noir scowled at his act.

"So," Eyes half closed Asch looked upon the leader of the black wings, his eyes lazily tracing the woman's blush hued locks. "-when are you going to let the real color grow out?"

With a sniff Noir ran a hand through her hair, coyly watching as at the red locks slithered between her fingers. Kat, he'd called her in his childhood, Misses Kat, to be exact. He smiled at the old memories, then reached down to help himself to the last cup. He raised it, and to his offer of a toast she raised a brow but took up her sole glass in reply.

_X_

_"What I don't get is the whole smacky thing, I guess." Leading the way down the semi-silent halls of Nam Combodia -ruckus, mayhem, and chaos were a norm in the Black Wings/Dark Dreams abode- the squat thief dredged up a smile for his most unlikely of "wing" mates. "Why'd the Fon Master hit you like that?"_

_"It's a rebuke, the first strike is to scold the child for his forgetfulness, the second is to rebuke the adult."_

_Curious, York rose an eyebrow. "Whatever for? You weren't noted for being a dolt after all. 'Less you play stupid for Van."_

_"Hardly." Asch snorted. "He'd have killed me in a heartbeat if I was a fool, or a traitor."_

_"Nice man." York twirled the glass bottle in his hand, the burnt orange liquid inside twirled and twisted upon itself._

_"What was the second hit for then?" Urushi growled, getting impatient. But then -if you believed Noir- Urushi was so impatient he came into the world so early he'd ruined his own legs. Urushi never said a word about that, to rebuke or confirm Noir's claim, he was too restless to sit still long enough to explain the "'fairs of his past"._

_"I just told you." Asch snapped, then chastising done, he reached up and tugged at the small bandages that Noir had slapped over the still healing cuts._

_Without turning Noir knew exactly what he was doing. She stomped her small foot and glared at the darkness in front of her like she was glaring at Asch._

_"Asch, leave them alone!"_

_"It itches." Asch grumbled to no one in particular._

_"I don't care, leave them alone!" _

_"Come on Asch." Urushi whined. "You know I don't get them damn priesty dealings." _

_Annoyed beyond measure Asch growled, but since he was among friends he didn't do anything else. They waited for the God General's anger to pass, two sets of ears all but pricked forward in anticipation. Noir, who had actually spent the time to research the God General ritual already, knew what Asch was going to say. So she paid more attention to leading them through the darkness that shrouded Nam Combodia. The mess of scattered props, 'playful' traps, and toys left by Katz, Kows, and human children alike, was making the simple walk into something of a trial. They all grouped around in the shadows, wearily dragging their feet to feel for obstacles, and prayed that they wouldn't wander into anything truly dangerous. _

_Annoyed by the fact that someone had broken the fon tech lights as a practical joke Noir was mentally going over a few openings for her upcoming lecture. Correction_… scathing lecture_. Wincing as her foot bumped into a heavy prop sword she hissed such a violent oath that she could feel Asch turn and regard her. Out of them he only had light, and that was because he was wasting fifth fonons. Even then he was being so cautions with his spell that only the ends of his fingers glowed. Yes -she decided then and there with an evil cackle- her speech would be a truly paint blistering, lecture. Chalk full of profanity, she mentally amended. And ethics be damned. She was entitled to her indulgence after this nightmare crossing. With a nod to say "Yes, I'm fine, don't worry about me," Noir busied her mind with constructing the opening phrases. Her speech would be delivered nice and early, before breakfast… All so the miscreant could do without a meal and have hunger and shame gnawing at them… _

_"The second strike is a reprimand. To never take duty lightly, as a matter of fact protocol says that the Fon Master is to reprimand the supplicant." _

_"You said he was supposed to. Doesn't that mean he didn't?" York queried, all but jumping on the incognito shading of Asch's statement. _

_"He didn't." Asch confirmed. _

_"What'd he say then?" Urushi wondered. _

_"How the hell should I know! His eyes were rolling back like he was going to have some sort of fit, and he had it! I wasn't exactly taking the time to read his lips or anything!" _

_X_

"To excitement?" Asch proposed. "A lively ending to a rather ho-hum affair?"

"Sound's like something I'd say." Noir conceded with a sly grin. "Proposal accepted!"

They both rose their glasses to the distant heavens and took a generous gulp of their drinks.

"So, what happens now?" Noir asked. "You got your freedom at long last. Much to that Master of yours chagrin you also still have your wits intact. Though Gods and Goddess know how you've kept it all these years."

With a sigh Noir twiddled the thin stem of her glass between her fingers. The liquid inside sloshed against the rim and nearly spilled over. Still Noir's nervous fingers played on, indifferent to the attire's danger. Silence -a mite strained- spanned between them. At last Asch stopped watching and said the first thing that came to his mind.

"You're not one to brood, Noir."

"Not suited for it." She grinned, fluttered her eyelashes at him. "Normally I find pretty, smart men, to do it for me."

Asch snorted at her praise. He shook his head as if to banish her words from his ears, but even as he did so he could feel his face turning a few shades closer to matching his hair.

"How did you do it?" She asked at last, snapping him out of his pleasantly numb state. "Keep your head all these years? Van had his hand in everything, twisting you whatever way he liked."

"He didn't have a thing. As for how I survived…. You might say that I merely apply what I excel at to all the scenarios that consist of my life."

"What, like annoying your elders?" Noir suggested archly.

"Among other things." Asch countered.

"A toast," Noir raised her glass. Asch, with a smirk, followed suit. "To free will, and to defeating the odds, or Gods, or whatever their parroting off Lorelie as nowadays..."

"To Lorelie's defeat then. And humanity's victory." Asch echoed.

Though a room apart they rose their glasses as if they might meet. Green eyes met blue, both shared warm smiles, then the drink was downed.

"I'll admit I miss having my little cardinal around." Noir set her glass down.

Following suit Asch put his glass on the floor with utmost care. An unstoppable yawn that stretched his mouth to its capacity and made his jaws ache decided him. It was time to turn in. The drink wasn't very strong, but it was making him a bit more aware of how weary he was.

"I haven't gone anywhere, Noir."

"No but you're growing up. You aren't half as vain as you used to be, and none of that annoying pro-noble attitude is still in you."

" Largo's scythe ripped more than bones and flesh. Blood wasn't the only thing I lost in Daath's salle." Asch countered. "I'm not an innocent little boy. I wasn't allowed to be. It happened Noir, that's life. I had to stay, to do what I needed to do."

"And you're going back…"

"There are six of us now Noir, when I first went to Daath it was just Legretta and Largo. I'm the last of six, now, and I don't understand why." He turned to her then, wiggled about until he lay on his stomach and moodily set his chin on an outstretched arm. The fingers dangled over the edge of the couch. He watched the tingling digits rather than her. "He's enlisted murderers Noir, murderers and the mad. Dist the Reaper, Sync the Tempest, and Arietta, Ion's previous guardian. Why? I can't think of a clear answer, and it chills my blood when I speculate on what little plans I know of that he has. He read me my death score you know, then he turns around and tells me he's going to have my replica fulfill it."

"That _bastard_!" Noir hissed. "He read you your _death score_, that motherless son of a bitch!"

Amused at her profanity -as always- Asch twinkled the fingers of the dangling hand. He watched the now burning numb fingers twitch at his command with something too detached to be fascination. At last, after gathering his courage, he turned to look at her, and was startled to see her face an uncomely shade of crimson. Noir didn't show her anger well. Rage made her face burn hot and bright and made her eyes glimmer, as if with tears...

"I can't let it happen, Noir. "_The Sacred Flame will be used as a weapon of Kimlasca Lavendear. He shall be a tool of great devastation. And drawn by his flame, by his hope, those of the mining city shall flock to his standard and he will release his weapon amongst them._" And there is only one weapon that Lorelie gave me, one so awful that I don't dare use it, ever."

"Hyperresonance…" Noir whispered, looking sick as understanding descended. "My Gods… the Order's just going to sit back and let your replica…"

"In a city," Asch whispered. "They'll have him release his power in a city filled with people. None of them would survive."

"Was he telling the truth though, Van, was he…"

"That's why I'm going back. The Score reading trance… it wasn't right… Something was wrong with it. I don't know if he was lying, or suppressing some of it, or changing the words somehow… They'll sit on their asses, the Order, they won't do a damn thing. But I think I can do something, I have to try at least."

"And you'll play his game."

"Like always." Asch's lips curled into something to bitter to be a smile. "But I think I have a few pieces up my sleeve he won't expect."

As his meaning hit Noir flushed. "You're putting way too much faith in us."

"Oh, not just you," Asch assured her with a mysterious chuckle. "Not just you."

Absently Asch went back to staring at his arm, as if tracing the patterns of his fon slots with his eyes.

It was impossible of course, simply impossible. You couldn't see fon slots, just like you couldn't see fonons. They were invisible, everyone knew that. The closest you could get to seeing was "feeling" them, and those who could were supposedly half mad.

"Go to bed, Noir." Asch murmured. "Get some sleep."

"You're not like a hero out of the stories, Asch." Noir whispered. "One man can't change the world."

"Really?" He flicked his gaze on her, a glimmer of surprise housed in the emerald depths of his eyes. "I'd never thought of you as a pessimist."

"I'm a realist." Noir countered. "If I were a blind optimist I'd have stopped stealing years ago. I would have just hoped that the performances would have brought enough in for me to continue things here."

"Yet you hope for change." Asch challenged. "Just like me. And you're willing to do anything to bring change about."

"Just like you?" Noir queried.

"Just like me." Asch answered coolly. "And, just like me, you aren't a blind optimist. If I were I'd walk away from Daath, from Van, and I'd go straight to Batical, straight home. I'd go home present myself to them as Luke fon Fabre."

"You tried that once, remember? It didn't work."

"Like I'd forget." Asch snarled. "I failed because that's not how the world works. It's not a bloodless work, fighting the Score, waging war on Lorelie. Have you ever considered what it costs us? To live without faith in the Score is to be a non-believer in a world of believers. If we told them, those outside this little community you've made, that the words of their "god" are little more than a lore of lies…"

Asch cut his speech off with a chuckle; clearly he was amused at his play upon words.

"I know what that costs, what would happen. I made all those mistakes starting out here-" Noir began. Asch silenced her with the wave of a hand.

"If you walked away, today, tomorrow, anytime, just took yourself, Urushi, York and left you'd be rich in a fortnight. No more midnight raids, no more fleeing the imperial army of Malkuth when the Wings almost get caught in a blotched robbery. No more working in dingy taverns with men leering at you. No more magazine signings. You'd be a free, wealthy woman, without an obligation in the world."

Noir shifted a bit, allowed her leg to drum at the side of the chair, her gaze conveying her lack of amusement louder than any words. Asch was repeating the obvious, and pissing her off while he did so. Anger was a dangerous thing in Aldurant. War was a currency, hate quick to come and hard to shake off. Its citizens were raised with a sword by the cradle, or fonic chant taught to them alongside nursery rhymes.

In Asch's case it had been both. Or rather both had been thrust upon him when he'd come into the real world outside the walls of his manor almost ten years ago.

"Just walk away." He told her. "It's not so hard."

"No."

"Then don't tell me to do so. Don't beg me to do the same. And trust me a little, alright?"

"I stay because of my responsibility." Noir hissed, her blood was up and she was almost ready for a fight. Not even the rare softness to Asch's tone, or the mute pleading in his eyes, was going to charm her into better humor. "If I left all these people would either starve or the monsters outside would get them! I'm not staying for some stupid selfish reason!"

"Optimist, a noble optimist, I think I didn't do to shabby after all."

"What the hell are you talking about?!"

"You wanted the run the Wings for profit, always nagged Darithin to take more risks for more profit. He always turned you down. You were more selfish than I was Noir, and that says a lot that you aren't now."

Sulkily Noir glared at him, draping an arm over her chest in a half attempted "arms crossed" pose she glowered. To that, he just smiled. It was one of his rare smiles, not his "I'm going to kill you slow" grin, but a genuine warm curl to his lips.

"I already went through my rite of passage ten years ago Asch."

Still Asch looked upon her, his smile widening a hair.

Noir huffed. She mentally writhed as she realized that she was giving up her anger, and her reason for doing so was so stupid! It was all because he was smiling at her just so. He looked far too much like an innocent child when he smiled. The fact that a sliver of crimson hair had fallen loose in his restless tossing and turning did much to add to the childish image Asch was presenting at the moment. Especially since that lock of hair happened to fell onto his eyes. Telling herself to be stern, Noir continued.

"Don't treat me like a child."

"We both fight for all for the same reason in this little war. We're both Nobles in our own way, even if we don't have estates and servants; our responsibility is to our people. It's just how it is."

"I like that." Noir admitted, allowing herself to relax a little. "That whole "it's just how it is" part, I mean. And for the record, I'm not some stupid, prissy, stuck up, noble. Don't call me a noble ever again. And you aren't a noble either, don't call yourself that, it's insulting."

Asch only shook his head and laughed at the irony of it all.


End file.
